


Office Hours

by forkandpear



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forkandpear/pseuds/forkandpear
Summary: After the war things are slowly turning back to normal, even if that means a redecorated Ravenclaw common room.





	Office Hours

**Author's Note:**

> For #3

"I'm coming." 

McGonagall yawned and pushed back her covers, wondering what anyone could possibly want at this hour. She shivered in the cool night air, bundling her robe tightly around herself against the chill. 

The spell on the door revealed Granger and Weasley waiting outside, determined expressions on their faces. Potter was noticeably absent.

McGonagall sighed and opened it. 

"Yes?"

"We are sorry to disturb you so late, Headmis–," Granger started but Weasley cut in, impatiently. 

"Draco is in the Forbidden Forest." He beamed down at her, clearly expecting praise. "Headmistress."

McGonagall wondered if that was why Albus had kept those infernal lemon drops around. Instant gratification. 

She raised an eyebrow at Granger to elaborate.

"We were doing our Astronomy homework –" Granger fidgeted, blushing slightly at the obvious lie. 

McGonagall nodded, her eyes briefly lingered on Granger's wrongly buttoned blouse before moving on, pretending not to notice. 

"It's basically as Ron said. We saw Draco coming out of the Forbidden Forest. He looked like he was up to something and we thought it would be better to tell you, Headmistress."

"We would have gone after him, but –" Weasley shot a slightly mutinous look at Granger. "But we promised not to do that anymore …"

"Thank you for bringing this to my notice. I appreciate you not endangering yourself." McGonagall sighed. She'd hoped Malfoy's change of heart had been sincere, it really was a shame, the boy had so much potential. "I'll deal with this tomorrow afternoon."

–-

Later that day McGonagall entered her office and found herself in the middle of a heated argument between Granger and Weasley.

"Good afternoon." McGonagall announced her presence and watched everyone freeze into awkward silence. She shrugged out of her cloak, draping it neatly over a chair before sitting down behind her desk. 

"Good afternoon, Headmistress!" the three of them chimed in unison, the tension between them obvious.

"Mr Potter, why are you here?" 

Not that it was unusual for the three of them to be in the thick of it, coming to think about it Potter's absence last night was stranger than him showing up uninvited. 

"Uhm–" Potter elbowed a glaring Ron and positioned himself between his two friends. "Solidarity?" 

McGonagall nodded, figuring that letting him stay would be less trouble. One of the house elves popped in to deliver her afternoon tea. She thanked it and poured herself a cup when the door opened after a brief knock.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy." McGonagall rested her elbows on her desk, her hands cradling her cup. "We've been waiting for you."

"I apologize, Headmistress." Malfoy shot the trio a glare, brandishing the newest edition of the Daily Prophet as if that explained everything. 

"Let us start then." McGonagall put down her cup and straightened her back. They had wasted enough of her time already. 

"Miss Granger and Mr Weasley claim they saw you leaving the school last night." McGonagall locked her eyes with Malfoy, wishing, not for the first time, to have Albus' gift for legilimency. 

"That is true, Headmistress." Draco sounded put upon. He unfolded the latest edition of the Daily Prophet with an annoyed snap, leafing through it to the society pages, and pointedly smoothed the page down with a smug snort. 

"You admit that you were out after hours."

"I'm an adult. I can come and go as I please." Malfoy had the audacity to look annoyed. Annoyed and not the tiniest bit guilty. 

"Well?" McGonagall asked in her best Head of House voice. 

"I was at my mother's birthday party." He pushed the open newspaper towards McGonagall with more force than necessary. 

Weasley snorted _yeah, right_ and Malfoy turned to glare at him. 

"I'm in the bloody picture!" 

"Language, Mr Malfoy." McGonagall chided, more out of habit than annoyance. She turned the Daily Prophet 180 degrees and took a closer look at the photo. Draco was indeed in it. He was standing next to his mother who was blowing out the candles on a very elaborate three-tier birthday cake. 

"Then why didn't you use the Floo?" Granger prodded, always astute. She'd crossed her arms in front of her chest and McGonagall suppressed a smile at how much she reminded her of herself at that age. 

Malfoy actually looked embarrassed at that, refusing to meet Granger's eyes. 

"Our Floo is still down." His words were mumbled, barely audible. 

"You really want me to believe that?" Granger challenged.

"Yes," Malfoy bit out, temper flaring. "Because it's the truth."

Before either of them could go for their wands McGonagall cleared her throat, relieved that she hadn't been wrong about Draco after all. 

"Please give my belated birthday wishes to your mother," McGonagall addressed Malfoy. She folded the newspaper and handed it back to him with a nod, dismissing them.

–-

"I tell you, she's up to something!" Weasley's voice echoed down the empty corridor and McGonagall stopped dead in her tracks, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"This isn't the first time we've seen her sneaking around at night." 

"I don't know, Ron. She's a professor!" Potter sounded uncharacteristically reticent. "I thought we didn't want to do this anymore…"

"Hello, Lockhart, anyone?" Weasley's voice made it clear what he thought of his friend's intelligence.

"Let's go back to the dorms and talk to Hermione."

"I don't want to talk to Hermione." Weasley's tone took on a petulant whine. 

"Fine." Potter sighed. "Let's tell McGonagall –"

"Tell me what, exactly?" McGonagall stepped around the corner and drew herself up her full height. 

"We saw Lechu–" Potter caught himself and started again. "Professor Lechuza sneak out of the castle."

"Did you hire another werewolf?" Weasley asked tentatively. 

Sometimes McGonagall wondered if the curse on the Dark Art's position really had been broken or just mutated into something else, but she'd never approved of Albus encouraging the students to take matters into their own hands. 

"Professor Lechuza is not a werewolf," McGonagall replied, hoping against the odds that she wasn't lying.

Not that she would admit it to her students, but Professor Lechuza was a bit odd. 

"She's testing new spells for next year's curriculum."

At least that's what McGonagall hoped she was doing. What Lechuza was supposed to be doing. She'd have to look into that on her own later on.

–-

McGonagall all but slammed the door shut behind her, regretting every one of her decisions.

Lechuza dancing naked under the new moon, arhythmically playing a gong and praising the Earth Mother. She'd almost have preferred something nefarious. Nefarious and clothed. 

She opened the secret compartment spelled shut against adventurous students and poured herself a sherry. A big one.

Her eyes lingered on Albus' pensieve. She'd been pleasantly surprised when she'd found most of Albus' possessions stored away in a trunk, thinking them lost, destroyed, when Severus had assumed the post of Headmaster.

She would have to have words with Professor Lechuza, though. McGonagall downed the contents of her tumbler, shuddering. Stern words. Tomorrow, when everyone involved was appropriately dressed.

–-

McGonagall walked up and down the aisles, supervising her students' transfiguration attempts. She didn't teach many classes anymore, but with the teacher shortage as it was she'd agreed to handle the NEWT transfiguration class herself. Granger and Weasley seemed to have made up, snuggling close, sharing a textbook, and McGonagall suppressed an indulgent smile. She shouldn't be invested in her students' private lives but sometimes she just couldn't help it. Her own great-grandkids would start Hogwarts soon.

–-

"Mr Potter, do you have any idea what time it is?" She tapped her fingers on the door frame, wondering when this had become a standard greeting.

"Eleven-thirty, Headmistress," Potter mumbled.

Weasley, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed. And with due right, McGonagall thought. He'd woken her up just two days ago and dragged her to the kitchen only to interrupt the oh so very nefarious cake baking of Miss Parkinson and Miss Brown. Lethal chocolate cake indeed. 

"We heard some Hufflepuffs planning to sneak into Ravenclaw, Headmistress." Granger held onto Weasley's hand and McGonagall wondered what exactly she was afraid of. 

"Miss Granger, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley." She gave each one of them a stern look as she addressed them. "While I appreciate your concern, what about this could not have waited until tomorrow?"

"I am in my office every afternoon. Unless it is a dire emergency – and I mean dire – I would appreciate it if you came to me then."

The door closed behind them and McGonagall couldn't help but feeling a sense of relief. 

She was well aware that there were students sneaking about after hours. She'd deal with that tomorrow. The war had torn the joys of a normal childhood from too many of her students. She'd let them have this – within reason – even if it meant that the Ravenclaw common room was currently being redecorated by some of the more adventurous Hufflepuffs.

McGonagall stoked the fire, warming her hands on the flames. She straightened her back and nudged her favourite pillow closer to the welcoming heat, then morphed into her cat form. She turned three times, finding just the spot and fell asleep to the comfort of normalcy.


End file.
